


bloody city

by burningveins



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post S2 AU, boxing au, fingers crossed, prize fighting, probably will be E later if i get that far, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningveins/pseuds/burningveins
Summary: After she's forced to kill her one true love, Angel, to save the world Buffy forsakes slaying and goes to Los Angeles to start a new life. She starts working at a gym as a prize fighter which gives her enough to pay rent. The newly called slayer, Faith, seems to be taking care of things just fine in Sunnydale. Buffy sees no reason to go back home when she knows it will only remind her of what she's lost, not just the love of her life, but her free will and identity as well. That's when she runs into a certain vampire who is on his way through town after getting dumped by his girlfriend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my first spuffy fic and my first fic in a long while so if it's bad it just be like that. all i ask is that you don't be passive aggressive ("there were some flaws, but"), you know, i'm trying my best and i want to be ignorant in peace. the title is from the song sam tinnesz. also posted on ef under the same user.
> 
> disclaimer: characters belong to the rat, joss whedon, not me, even though i love them more

The city was in a predawn haze. Enough light to see by, but still night in every other sense. Buffy’s feet hit the pavement with a force that could easily leave cracks in the sidewalk. Running during the day was unbearable, the heat was oppressive and the smog was suffocating, but the few hours before the dawn were cool enough for her to make her whole route no problem.

Her neighborhood was… rough, to put it lightly. While she was obviously more than capable of taking care of herself, she didn’t really consider heroin needles and homeless camps scenic. Usually she’d get out of her part of town as quick as possible, and then make her way somewhere a little nicer. Los Angeles wasn’t nearly as hard to get around in when you weren’t in a car and had slayer speed and stamina.

Buffy thought that when she stopped slaying she wouldn’t have to spend all her free time training, but no dice. Whether or not she was actually killing vampires her body still had the energy and if she sat still for more than a day she would be ready to explode. At first she’d just ran. It was easy and solitary and spent her energy fast.

About two weeks into her new routine she passed something that caught her eye. A fairly rundown looking gym had put out a sign on the sidewalk proclaiming that it was looking for female prizefighters. She’d spent all the meager savings she’d brought with her on a bus ticket, a month’s rent, and a week’s worth of food. Sure, it was kind of unfair to compete with normal women when you were part of an ancient line of vampire slayers, engineered to be a human weapon down to the very marrow in your bones, but a girl’s gotta eat.

She nearly got laughed out of the place when she first walked in. At least it wasn’t Gold’s, but it was still Los Angeles, and the clientele tended to look a little more bodybuildery than she did. I didn’t matter. She proved herself soon enough. The only hard part was making it look hard, and y’know, not accidentally mortally injuring anyone. So far she’d done okay.

Really, it had all worked out pretty well. She was making money off of just about the only thing she was truly good at: fighting. A lot more money than she’d make on tips at some shitty diner or grocery store, which is what she’d thought she’d be doing. Besides, it gave her somewhere to train. Training was of the good, it kept her moving, and stopped her from thinking. Anything that stopped her for thinking was in the plus column.

That’s pretty much what her life had been ever since: get up, go on her run, end at the gym, train until it was dark, go to the occasional match, collect her inevitable winnings, run home, sleep, wash, rinse, repeat. It was good. It left no time for questioning what she doing or where she was going or if anyone at home missed her or if she was a monster for abandoning her sacred duty just because it hurt too bad. The last time she’d thought on any of those certain points too long it had ended with her sobbing so hard she lost her dinner in her dingy apartment bathroom. No, it was better not to dwell on any of that. Just keep moving. One more step, one more breath, just keep moving, no looking back.

When she walked into the gym the sun was just barely rising.  
“Hey, Anne,” said the man at the front desk. Everybody here knew her. It was hard not to when she was here all day, every day. Still, she tried to keep her distance. Apart from the intermittent sparring match she didn’t talk to anyone. She gave the man a short nod, headed to the dumbbells, and started what had become a routine the past couple months.

It was around noon when Thomas, the manager of the gym, approached her.

“Hey, Anne, I’ve got a fight for you tonight. You interested?”

“Yeah, sure. Where’s it at?” Buffy spoke without turning away from the punching bag she was currently assaulting.

“Santa Monica.”

Buffy laughed a little.

“Yeah, alright. As long as it’s not too upscale for me.”

“Right, because I have the money to book an upscale place,” he scoffed. That got a little smile out of her.

“Though if you keep winning me fights, who knows where you’ll get. Maybe I’ll have you in Staples Center someday.”

“Yeah, dream big Tom,” she muttered. She didn’t intend on ever going bigger than grimy hole in the wall gyms. No need to attract attention to herself. She just needed money for groceries and a place to train and she’d be happy as a clam. Happy being a relative term. And what does happy as a clam mean anyways. Buffy was fairly certain clams didn’t emote.

“Meet me outside at 6,” Tom said, “I’ll drive you over.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, dismissing him, already refocused on her punching bag and trying not to feel naked without her stake in the back of her waistband.

 

* * *

 

 

Buffy was standing outside the gym at 6 o’clock, as promised, gym bag slung over her shoulder. The horizon was already starting to turn pink and the day’s heat was finally starting to recede. She rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to contain her nervous energy. She was never big on performing for people, still she knew how to put on a show.

Thomas rolled up in his hunk of junk about ten minutes past the hour. Buffy sighed as she walked towards the car, wishing she had the energy to be embarrassed by it. A year ago and she wouldn’t be caught dead in this paint-chipped box of bolts, but desperate times she supposed. She wrinkled her nose as she pushed aside the fast food wrappers occupying the front seat and slipped in the passenger door.

“Ready, princess?”

“Sure,” Buffy said non-committedly. She liked Thomas. He wasn’t a creep like a lot of the other boxing coaches she’d come across since starting this gig, who were always hitting on her. That and he minded his business which was his best trait in her humble opinion.

Buffy really wished that Thomas would drive her over before rush hour hit, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, she kind of liked watching the sunset over the city. The sky changing colors, probably enhanced by the pollution and smog that blanketed the city, but made for a pretty picture, the buildings slowly turning on their lights as the city became fluorescent and neon. It just wasn’t the same as in Sunnydale where everyone bolted their doors as soon as the twilight hour hit. The town just went dead, Los Angeles came alive at night.

By the time they got to Santa Monica it was dark. Buffy hadn’t bothered to change out of her workout clothes. She wore a dark hoodie over a sports bra and shorts, leaving her legs exposed to the warm night. She followed Thomas into the club. It was small, just a ring, some standing room, and a door to a changing room off to the side. Thomas had approached the manager while she hung back to survey the room. She walked over to them, butting into the conversation unceremoniously.

“Where’s the water cooler?”

“We don’t have one.” The manager glanced at her, though his attention was clearly elsewhere.

“This is a gym. You don’t have water?”

“There’s a 7-Eleven down the street.” Buffy rolled her eyes before she slung her gym bag over her shoulder and walked back out onto the deserted alley. It was far from the trendiest area in Santa Monica, but it was still miles nicer than her neighborhood. She pulled her hood over her head and dug her wallet and a stake out of her gym bag and stuck them in respective pockets.

The store was empty except for the clerk and some guy over in corner by the alcohol. She walked over to the fridge with water bottles and dug around for her wallet. It wasn’t until she got to the counter that she noticed the vampire tingles on the back of her neck. That part of her training hadn’t been getting quite the same amount of attention recently, but the feeling was unmistakable. She kept her attention forwards, hoping that the vampire wouldn’t notice her. Those hopes were dashed to pieces when she heard a horrifyingly familiar British accent behind her.

“Slayer?”

“Oh, hell.”

Buffy pulled her stake from her pocket.

“How did you find me? Nevermind, I guess it doesn’t matter. Alright, how do you want to do this? I have somewhere to be.”

“Not here to kill you Slayer,” Spike slurred, “And would you mind watching where you point that thing?” He gestured at the stake.

Ignoring the clerk’s questioning look, Buffy grabbed her water bottle with her non-stake-occupied hand and headed towards the door.

“Hey, wait up!” Spike stumbled a little as he rushed after her.

“God, you’re wasted.” Buffy didn’t know if the PTB had set up this little get together to punish her for abandoning her sacred duty, but it was a nice little theory she was constructing. If her past was going to find her here, couldn’t it have at least been one of her friends, or, like, that slime demon that had gotten away from her last year. It just had to be Mr. Short, Bleached, and Drunk Off His Ass.

“Well… yeah.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and picked up the pace.

“So you didn’t come here to kill me, then what? You came to catch up, swap gossip?”

“I didn’t come for you. Shocking at you might find it, not everything revolves around the Slayer and her loyal pack of dogs.”

“I’m not the Slayer anymore.”

Spike laughed roughly at that.

“So, you just have the natural ability to fling a grown man across a room like a dollie?”

“Okay so I’m the Slayer, but I’m not slaying. In fact, could you stop calling me Slayer? I’m trying to keep a low profile here, the demons don’t even know I’m in town and if they do, word will get back to the Hellmouth.”

Spike made a face like he was trying to figure out what she just said but was too drunk.

“Your friends don’t know where you are?”

“No, and they’re not going to. Now if we’re done with this little reunion, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“You said that before. Where would that be exactly?”

Buffy rolled her eyes for what felt like the twentieth time in the past five minutes. How any one person could be this annoying she didn’t know, but every time he spoke she got the urge to stick a knitting needle in her ear and spin it around until her brain was a nice chunky soup.

“1234 None of Your Business Boulevard.”

“Alright, alright, no need to get shirty. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

Buffy had serious doubts about that but she just stood and stared at him with her arms crossed until he disappeared down an alley. She waited another couple minutes to make sure he was really gone before she pushed open the door to the gym.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the updates may be a little spacey, my health isn't peak but a few things I forgot to add on the first chapter: Buffy is 18 because it makes my life easier and I don't understand how she was renting an apartment as a minor anyways. I'm not trying to create her canon mental state. It's a lot closer to season 6 than canon season 2 but I don't think it's unrealistic. I'm just putting more focus on the trauma she went through in that season since it's not dealt with for the rest of the show and causes a lot of issues. Lastly thank you to Sydnee for betaing. I love you to death and you are the best writing buddy I could ask for (P.S. If you like Theon and Sansa definitely check her out at chancellor_valdez on AO3). Okay I think that's all.

They’d arrived about thirty minutes before the fight actually started and the place was empty, but eventually a few people filed in to watch. It was mostly locals looking for an opportunity to gamble. She knew people typically bet against her, not knowing she’d won every fight she’d ever been entered. There’s not exactly a Sketchy Prize Fighting Weekly for her to be on the cover of. She didn’t really give a shit, she got her money either way.

She was sitting in the changing room bench next to her opponent, both avoiding eye contact. The other girl was big and well muscled, with shiny dark hair and strong features. Her own body looked more akin to how one might describe a junkyard dog. She had muscle where it could develop, despite looking skinny to the point of being malnourished. She hadn’t been eating much, or sleeping much for that matter.

The other girl got called out first. Buffy heaved a sigh, getting to her feet as the announcer welcomed “Atomic Anne” to the ring. The name warranted an eye roll every time. Thomas had come up with it when she’d refused to make her own. 

She walked out into the ring, ducking through the ropes and getting in her corner. Her face was completely expressionless. She knew she’d win, but the true challenge in fighting wasn’t winning, it was making it look real. If she wanted she could put the other girl in a coma with her first hit, but that didn’t help her any. If she wanted the money she had to put on a show. 

The first round started and Buffy let the other girl get the first hit, and the second, then threw a weak punch at the girl’s stomach. The girl landed a hit on her nose, and she heard it crack.

“Shit,” she muttered as she felt blood start flowing. 

She threw another punch that barely grazed the girl’s shoulder. The girl hit Buffy on the side of her head and Buffy hit the mat. Hard. It was then, despite the ringing in her ears she heard a distinctly British cheer from the crowd. Rage surged through her and she realized he’d followed her in.

She didn’t care about looking weak in front of these strangers, she knew she could fling any one of them the length of a football field. It was different in front of Spike. Fighting him was different, period. Even with The Master it was never like this. Then, she was scared, but it was a little girl’s fear and she’d pushed it to the back of her mind, pretended it didn’t exist. 

With Spike it wasn’t a debilitating fear, more like the knowledge that any one of either of their blows could be the last. It was exciting, like dancing with death, a balancing act where both fighters were perfectly weighted. Not that she’d ever admit any of that, to him or anyone else.

Her cheek on the mat, she caught a flash of white hair, and something surged through her, sending her to her feet. The girl aimed a punch but she effortlessly blocked it, she aimed two more and Buffy dodged them. Then she landed three punches, one on the girl’s ear, one on her stomach, one on her right eye. The girl stumbled backwards, stunned. They only made it three rounds before the girl hit the mat and didn’t get back up. A flash of nausea shot through Buffy before she realized with relief she’d only knocked her unconscious.

The ref stepped up and held up Buffy’s gloved fist, declaring her winner. She got a hollow applause from the crowd, most of them angry to have lost their bets. Buffy stepped out of the ring, avoiding any eye contact with Spike, though she could feel his eyes on her. She walked over to Thomas, who handed her a towel and her water bottle. 

“Damn Annie, your training hours are seriously paying off.”

Buffy gave him a short nod, anxious to leave before Spike could approach them, but her stomach sank when she heard a glib voice from behind her.

“Nice fight, Annie.” 

Spike smirked and she longed to punch him in the face. God, it would feel good to not hold back. She pushed the urge down.

“Thanks,” she said, still refusing to look at him. 

“Not your best work, obviously, but it did the job.” Buffy’s strange embarrassment returned and she spun to glare at him.

“Look, whatever this is that you’re trying to do, I’m not interested. Just leave me alone.”

“Is this guy bothering you, Anne?” Thomas came to stand at her shoulder.

“Don’t worry Tom,” she said, staring down the smirking vampire, “I can handle Spike.”

He gave that an incredulous snort, which she ignored as she turned towards the exit. But before she could make her escape she heard his voice again.

“Look, Sl- Anne, why don’t you let me take you home.”

“Hm, let me think on that. Sorry, I’m going to have to go with ‘absolutely no way in hell.’” Buffy didn’t know what he was playing at, but it was starting to make her seriously uneasy. She took another step, but got stopped short.

“Alright then, suppose I’ll spend the night all by my lonesome…. No knowing what I might do…. ” He wasn’t smiling but the look in his eyes said he knew he had her pinned. 

Her stomach sank as the true implications of this interaction sunk in. If she let him go the torture would be far worse than enduring his snide remarks. She already spent too long in the shower, she could barely afford her water bill. She just couldn’t ever feel clean. She dreamt that her hands were covered in blood and no matter how hard she scrubbed it wouldn’t come off.

“Fine.”

“Anne?” Thomas looked at her concerned.

“It’s fine Tom. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

He gave her a confused nod and began to gather his things. Buffy grabbed a rag and started towards the door without looking to see if Spike followed.

“Not the Slayer anymore, eh?” His voice came from right behind her. He seemed to be taking great pleasure from her situation, but she was too tired to respond to his taunting. 

The street was dark, lit only from residual light pouring out of surrounding buildings. The heat of the day was all but gone and she shivered, crossing her arms over herself. Tilting her head up, she held the rag to her still dripping nose, and cringed when she saw Spike eyeing the blood slowly staining the white cloth.

“If you aren’t the Slayer why do you care what I do?” He seemed determined to bait her even if she wouldn’t bite.

She really couldn’t say why he gave a shit if she was the Slayer. The way she saw it, she was doing him a favor not killing him on site, but she still snorted at his question. If only he knew what she’d do to keep the guilt at bay.

“Well, unfortunately for you I’m still anti-murder.”

“So new Slayer morals are: murder is still bad, but cheating is peachy keen?”

“I’m not the Slayer anymore and therefore I don’t have ‘Slayer morals.’ Besides, it’s not cheating if you don’t break the rules. There’s no rule saying you can’t be The Chosen One, given supernatural strength to fight the forces of evil. If I can’t get rid of this curse, I might as well make it work for me.”

“Can’t argue with that logic, love. But then, tell me why you’re still against murder?” 

Buffy looked at him incredulously.

“Because it’s wrong, you psychopath.” 

Spike was smiling now.

“And it would be wrong even if it wasn’t against the law?”

“Obviously!”

“So then how is it that what you did in there’s not wrong just because you didn’t break a rule people didn’t know to make.” 

She glared at him.

“It still isn’t the same as killing someone.”

“Well, obviously. It’s not nearly as fun. But your argument is falling apart and you know it.”

 

“Why are you here?” Buffy said, changing the conversation which made him smirk and her scowl.

He might have a incy wincy bit of a point. Not about the homicide comments, but about the fighting. She knew he knew she knew he was right, but she’d never admit it, because the truth was it didn’t make a lick of difference to her whether it was right or wrong, and that scared her a little bit.

“Was just on my way through town,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Not lying. I was on my way through town. I saw you at that corner store. Believe me, I was just as surprised to see you. Thought you’d be at the Hellmouth, performing your sacred duty and all that rubbish. Can’t blame a bloke for being curious.”

“That’s why we’re taking this nice midnight stroll? You just wanted my company? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, us being mortal enemies and all.”

“You ever think I was just fucking bored? Eternity is full of dull moments. You live long enough you’ll take just about anything over the, well you know... the quiet. Besides, maybe I just want to know what a Slayer’s social security looks like. Don’t know that I’ve ever seen one retire before.”

The quiet. She thought about that first day sitting alone in her shitty new apartment. It wasn’t really quiet, people were fighting in the apartment upstairs, and another person was blasting music next door. There were sirens and tvs and people yelling on the streets but it wasn’t enough to focus on and her thoughts came like a damn breaking. The guilt, the shame, the fear. 

You got Ms. Calender killed, you got Kendra killed, you got Giles tortured all your fault because you didn’t think. And how many more are dead now because you can’t bear it? It’s when she’d started running.

Buffy snapped out of her revery when she noticed him looking at her funny. Guess she’d been quiet too long. She’d quickly changed the subject.

“So then where’s Dru?” 

That definitely got a reaction. Spike’s whole demeanor shifted. He seemed suddenly guarded.

“We, uh, we decided to go our separate ways,” he said lightly.

“She dumped ya, huh?”

“No!” he spluttered, hesitating before admitting, “Alright, yeah, she did. Not that it’s any of your bloody business.” At least that explained why he was absolutely plastered.

“You just had conflicting interests,” she smirked, “you know, disagreeing about the apocalypse and all. That can really tear a relationship apart if unaddressed.”

“Alright, yuck it up, Slayer. Suppose I asked for this when I chose your particular company. Don’t be getting any ideas, by the way. Just because I’d rather listen you than that Drokken demon from last night doesn’t mean you’re special. I’d rather listen to nails on a bloody chalkboard and-” He cut himself off.

“And, what?” she asked when it was clear he didn’t intend on finishing his thought. 

“Just didn’t really feel like being alone is all, alright.” 

He looked at her then and just for a second she saw a flash of raw pain in his eyes before it disappeared. The banter, the insults, she was used to. But this, this vulnerability was so unexpected it nearly knocked the wind out of her. This was an insanely weird night. The weirdest things had been since she left home. She thought she’d left to get away from the weird, but now she was having- well, not fun, but it wasn’t the monotony of a punching bag or feet on pavement, and still she wasn’t drowning in her thoughts. She didn’t really know what to say next so they just walked in silence, Buffy glancing at him every once in a while and Spike avoiding her gaze.

By the time they got back to her apartment she had made up her mind. 

“Alright, you’re coming with me.”

“A little forward, don’cha think, Slayer?” All former traces of vulnerability had been wiped clean and he was back to leering at her. At least it was business as usual, she knew how to deal with this Spike.

“You’re disgusting,” Buffy said, because it’s what she would have said just a few months ago, but there wasn’t much mirth in it. All she really felt was tired. She grabbed his arm and pulled it behind his back, which made him yelp, and started pushing him up the stairs of the building. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Spike was squirming in her grip but she kept pushing him forward until they reached the door of her apartment. 

“You said it yourself. I can’t just leave you on the streets to kill someone, it’s as good as killing them myself.”

She pushed him down into her sole dining table chair, grabbed the rope sitting on the table, and began tying him to it. He kept squirming but she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, mainly because her heart wasn’t really in it. If he really wanted to he could just push her to the ground and bolt and she wouldn’t chase him. He could reach up and snap her neck right now and she didn’t know if she’d even raise a hand to stop him. He didn’t though. He just kept wriggling against the ropes.

“So how come you were fine with letting me go off into the night before your big showdown, but now I’m stuck to a chair.”

“Something tells me you aren’t the type to handle breakups well, and we both know that doesn’t mean hunkering down with gallon of chocolate mint.” 

It was a lie. She had no doubts about his dramatics, but the truth was she was making it up as she went along. The even scarier truth was that it felt good, to have some measure of control over something again, even if they were just playing pretend. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Spike slurred. Buffy just looked at him. He definitely looked worn around the edges. She got the idea that he hadn’t been sober in days, and hadn’t showered in even longer.

“You’re lucky my apartment already smells like cat piss, or I’d be worried about you stinking up the place.”  
He looked around the room for the first time, and wrinkled his nose, which was an action so incongruous with his tough guy getup that she had to stifle a giggle. 

“This is a real pit, Slayer.”

“You lived in an abandoned warehouse.” 

Still, she wasn’t arguing. It had one room, kitchen on one side, bed on the other, and a bathroom in a tiny adjoined room. The paint was chipping, the roof leaked in one corner, and she wasn’t even on the top floor which made it all the more disgusting. Not to mention Slayer strength does nothing to save you from cockroaches. 

“And that wasn’t the worst of it, but I thought the almighty Slayers had higher standards than lowly demons. Didn’t peg you to lie down with the dogs.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t have a salary even when I was the Slayer, and now I’m not exactly flush with cash.”

She was cleaning up the rest of the blood on her nose, which was already halfway healed, when she saw Spike grimace out of the corner of her eye.

“Say, you don’t happen to have any vodka ‘round here, do you?” 

She shook her head in disbelief.

“Vampire metabolism. Never satisfied, are you?”

He looked shocked when she walked over to open one of the cabinets. It was empty except for a single bottle of liquor. She took it out and set it on the table near him.

“Tequila?”

She shrugged. 

“I thought it seemed like the most fun.”

Spike looked halfway between laughing and realizing he was actually in a hell dimension. 

“I really want to know how you got this.”

“Dream on.”

When she first got to town she’d punched a store clerk who was leering at her and stole it. Why should she play by the rules, she’d thought. The rules didn’t give a fuck about her, clearly. Nothing ever turned out like it was supposed to. That’s what people did when things went sour, right? They drank. She’d taken one sip and spit it on the floor with disgust. The alcohol burned her throat, but the guilt over snatching the bottle burned all the way down to her stomach and she cried until she fell asleep. Yeah somehow she just didn’t get the desire to tell Spike that little anecdote. 

“You were awfully stingy with it. What did you drink, a sip?” Buffy looked away, embarrassed he’d instantly cut straight to the truth. Somehow he always seemed to do that

“I didn’t like it,” she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant. Spike let out a few harsh bark of laughter.

“‘Course you didn’t. You wouldn’t, would you.” She didn’t even bother asking what that meant. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, love, I’m having a touch of difficulty using my arms.” Buffy smirked at that and walked over to her bed, crawling in fully clothed and hitting the light, leaving the room in darkness save for the neon glow that passed through the window. leaving funny patterns on the floor.

“That’s kind of the point.”

“You’re a cold fucking bitch, you know that, Slayer?” 

He launched into a rant about how cruel she was, “And she called him a demon, and oh when he got his hands ‘round her neck,” but Buffy was already asleep.


End file.
